Cutis had always been a curious child. While the other kids in the village played games or helped their parents with chores, he preferred to explore the deep forest that surrounded their small community. There was something magical about the towering trees, the chirping of unseen creatures, and the rustling leaves that whispered secrets only he could hear.
One day, Cutis wandered deeper than ever before. He had heard rumors of a mysterious tree that bore strange fruit, unlike anything anyone had ever seen. Some said the fruit could grant wisdom, others whispered it had the power to heal any wound. No one knew for sure, because the tree was forbidden territory. But forbidden things only made Cutis more determined.
As he ventured through the dense undergrowth, the air grew thick with an unusual scent—sweet, yet spicy. It pulled him forward like an invisible thread. And then, he saw it. The tree was unlike any other; its bark shimmered with golden hues, and its branches stretched wide as if reaching for the sky. Hanging from its limbs were round, glistening fruits that pulsed with a faint, eerie glow.
Cutis approached cautiously, his heart pounding with excitement. He reached out and plucked a single fruit. The moment his fingers touched its skin, a warm sensation traveled up his arm. He hesitated, then carefully tucked the fruit into his satchel. He had no idea what it could do, but he was determined to find out.
When he returned home, his father, a hard-working farmer, was coughing violently. Lately, his father’s health had been declining, and no medicine seemed to help. Cutis watched him struggle for breath and felt a deep sadness settle in his chest. Maybe the fruit could help.
He sliced it open and found its flesh was a vibrant shade of blue. The scent intensified, filling the room with an almost electric energy. He hesitated only for a moment before offering a small piece to his father.
His father took a hesitant bite. At first, nothing happened. But then, his breathing steadied. The wrinkles of pain on his forehead softened, and color returned to his cheeks. Within moments, he looked stronger than he had in years.
Cutis gasped. Had he really just found the cure to his father’s illness?
Word spread quickly through the village about the miraculous fruit. People came to Cutis, asking for help. Their grandparents, their sick children, their wounded soldiers—all were desperate for relief. Cutis knew he had to return to the forest.
This time, he didn’t go alone. He took a woven basket and a small knife, determined to harvest as much of the fruit as possible. But when he reached the tree, he noticed something strange. The tree seemed… aware. Its branches swayed, even though there was no wind. The fruit pulsed more brightly, as if sensing his presence.
As Cutis reached for another piece, a voice echoed in his mind. “Why do you take from me?” It was neither harsh nor kind, but calm, wise.
He swallowed his fear. “My father was sick. The fruit healed him. Now my village needs more. I want to help.”
A long silence followed. Then the voice spoke again. “I will give you what you seek, but you must promise to respect the balance. Take only what is needed, never more. For if greed overtakes kindness, the fruit will lose its power.”
Cutis nodded solemnly. He took only a handful of fruit and thanked the tree before heading home. Each time he returned, he followed the same rule: only taking what was necessary. And because of his wisdom, the village flourished. The sick were healed, the weak grew strong, and the elders lived longer.
His father, now healthier than ever, beamed with pride. “You are my hero, Cutis,” he said one evening, placing a strong hand on his son’s shoulder. “Not because you found the fruit, but because you understood its true value.”
And so, Cutis continued his secret harvest, always remembering the lesson of the strange fruit: that true power lay not in taking, but in giving wisely.
